


Plaster

by Agent_24



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Blackwatch, Blackwatch Era, Blood and Injury, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Injury Recovery, platonic mcreyes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-02-03
Packaged: 2018-09-21 16:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9558014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_24/pseuds/Agent_24
Summary: Being in Overwatch means you have a lot of close calls. Being in Blackwatch is worse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A "request" for my dear friend [Pigeon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/helo572/pseuds/helo572). 
> 
> You can ask for a "request" on my [main](http://violetwreck.tumblr.com/) or my [Overwatch blog](http://mcreyes.tumblr.com/)!!

It’s more muted than he would’ve guessed.

From his perch two buildings over, he sees the windows shatter and glass go flying. Smoke billows out thick, and nearby, a driver slamming on their breaks causes a domino effect of accidents.

It’s all sort of slow motion. Jesse’s immediate thought is that his target never came out of the building. His second thought is that Gabriel didn’t either.

Maybe it’s because of his altitude, or maybe it’s because the city is so loud on it’s own, or maybe it’s because his heart is racing, but the sounds are _all_ muted. He registers, late, that he’s already running down the stairs and that he left his gun on the roof. His brain will catch up with him eventually, he reckons. For the moment, he feels a strange sort of disconnect, something he recognizes from training, from Reyes teaching him how to keep his wits about him.

First, Gabriel’s in there.

Most people on the streets are running in the opposite direction or just standing around in shock. A brave few have taken to assisting those caught in the blast; from the street, there are some survivors stumbling out of the building already, coughing and covered in soot.

Second, if he runs, it’ll take him three minutes to reach the doors.

Jesse hates the city. He despises it, always has, always will. There’s too many people to have any kind of breathing room and shoving his way through crowds rushing in the opposite direction isn’t helping his nerves any.

Third, there’s a possibility that Gabriel might be dead.

He steels himself for it. There’s a sharp ache in his chest that he pushes down for the time being. The last thing he can afford to do is panic, and just the thought of it makes him feel like he can’t breathe.

He feels like it’s been more than three minutes by the time he gets close. A rescue squad won’t arrive for another half hour at best, guaranteed. Jesse doesn’t consider what their ETA would be at worst. He ties his bandanna around his face as he runs.

Fourth, either someone else tried to take out their target, or someone tried to take out Gabriel.

It’s probably the first option. He wants it to be the first option, at least. Jesse doesn’t like thinking about people coming after Gabriel specifically. He hates it when Gabriel goes on solo missions too. Funny that this time, when Jesse’s with him, is when he’s put in the most danger.

Jesse steps over broken glass. Smoke immediately makes his eyes sting. Dust is still settling, and small fires burn among piles of debris. There’s cracks along what’s left of the ceiling, and he quickly sidesteps falling plaster. He can see bodies and pieces half buried, and he looks away sharply as bile rises in his throat.

Fifth, Gabriel has a scar between his thumb and his index finger.

That point isn’t particularly important, and the scar isn’t exactly visible until proximity allows it to be. Still, it’s the first thing he thinks of when he sees Gabriel’s arm, or what he prays isn’t Gabriel’s arm, sticking out from beneath a pile of broken concrete and crumbled plaster.

He gets close and catches sight of Gabriel’s sleeve. His stomach lurches.

Jesse squeezes his eyes shut, prays like he means it for once. He’s never been religious, but he thinks about the cross that Gabriel wears around his neck and hopes it was good for something.

Organizing his thoughts suddenly doesn’t feel so effective. Jesse crouches and reaches for Gabriel’s hand, half hoping that he won’t see a scar when he smears away the dirt. The moment he touches his hand, Gabriel’s fingers twitch.

Jesse jumps and snatches his hand away by reflex. His breath catches in his throat. Under the rubble, he hears Gabriel call for help, voice hardly more than a dry whisper.

“I’m here,” he answers quickly, touching Gabriel’s hand briefly before moving to lift away debris. Most of it comes away with minimal effort, and Jesse’s relieved to eventually see Gabriel’s face.

He tries not to look at the blood on Gabriel’s mouth or think about what that means.

The last slab is the heaviest, and his metal arm helps, but Jesse still can’t do much more than slide it over smaller pieces that fell by Gabriel’s side. It creates a crevice big enough to pull Gabriel out, and Jesse tries his damnedest to ignore any sounds of pain Gabriel makes.

“I got you,” he reassures, hooking his hands underneath Gabriel’s arms. “I got you. One, two-”

Gabriel’s cry comes out raw, and Jesse cringes as he pulls. He pauses, lets Gabriel catch his breath, counts again, and drags him the rest of the way out. His stomach lurches; there’s a growing dark spot of red on Gabriel’s hoodie. It’s terrifyingly close to his heart, and Jesse wonders how Gabriel’s breathing with what may be a punctured lung and all this goddamn smoke.

“Easy,” he murmurs. Gabriel bites his lip hard as Jesse scoops him up, a scream cut short. It’s admirable, really, though Jesse can’t help thinking it’s stupid to try to keep quiet for his sake.

He treads careful, quick as he can in all this mess. He wants to pretend he’ll be heroic and go back in for the people he passes, except he won’t and he knows it, and he can’t bring himself to care.

First,  Gabriel has maybe thirty minutes till he bleeds out, if he’s lucky.

Fresh air has never tasted so good. Jesse crosses the street to get Gabriel as far away from the smoke as he can while still being close enough to get to any approaching ambulances. He presses his back against the wall of a store and slides to the ground, settling Gabriel in his lap, then yanks off his bandanna and applies pressure to the wound. Gabriel’s fingers tighten on Jesse’s sleeve. He’s gritting his teeth.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Jesse says. He doesn’t expect his voice to waver as much as it does. His eyes flit over Gabriel’s face. Underneath all the ash and the blood from a nasty cut, he spots a purpling bruise on Gabriel’s cheek.

_He’ll have a concussion_ , he thinks, and it sounds like Angela, for some reason.

Second, he doesn’t know how far it is to a hospital. It could be an hour before an ambulance arrives in this traffic, or worse.

Gabriel’s leg looks a little funny. Probably fractured. The blood from his ribs is still spreading. Jesse’s bandanna is getting soaked. Blood smears on his fingers, gleams against metal.

Third, Jesse doesn’t know what he’d do if Gabriel died. Gabriel was supposed to be a constant sort of thing.

The street is still a little chaotic. Jesse thinks his ears must be ringing because he can’t really hear any of it. Some brave folks are still running back inside to get others. Jesse wishes he could give a damn about them.

“Hey,” Gabriel says, and Jesse hates the way he shakes with the effort to speak.

Fourth, the hospital must be closer than he thought. He’s not sure how long it’s been since the explosion, but he thinks he can hear a siren in the distance.

“Thanks,” Gabriel rasps.

Jesse blinks. Gabriel’s features blur.

Fifth. He’s crying.

* * *

When Jesse wakes, Gabriel is staring at the ceiling. Jesse bolts upright in his chair, trying to remember when he fell asleep, but the past two days are nothing but a blur of smoke and hospitals and the smell of disinfectant.

Gabriel’s gaze drifts to him lazily. “Morning, cowboy,” he says. His voice sounds thick and a little dry. Jesse blames the painkillers.

“Hey,” he says, scooting his chair closer to the bed. “How’re you feelin’?”

“Peachy,” says Gabriel. He smiles, despite the fact that he’s most certainly not peachy. “Doc says I’m lucky.”

Jesse swallows. Lucky means alive. Lucky does not mean fine. “But are you...you gonna be alright, Jefe?” he asks. There’s a little tremor in his voice, and he hates that. Gabriel’s all full of stitches and sports a cast on his leg, and Jesse hates that too.

“All that shit they pumped into me has to be good for something,” Gabriel laughs, and winces right after. It takes Jesse a moment to figure out that he means the enhancement serum.

“Good,” he replies. “Good. ‘Cause I thought-” Jesse pauses, swallows, almost cringes as his voice shakes. “I wasn’t rightly sure you were gonna make it, boss.”

Gabriel’s features soften. “Come on, vaquero,” he chides. “I’ve been through worse.”

“I don’t much like thinkin’ about that, sir,” Jesse says frankly. He blinks twice, then drops his chin and quickly swipes at his eye.

Gabriel frowns and falls silent for a moment, features solemn. After a moment, he murmurs, “You saved my life.”

Jesse laughs, watery and with little humor, blinks back tears and hates that he couldn’t stay put together for more than five minutes. “Naw,” he says.

“Sure you did,” Gabriel insists.

Jesse shakes his head. “Anybody worth a damn woulda. I ain’t a hero or nothin’ like that.”

“Not everyone’s worth a damn,” Gabriel says matter-of-factly.

“I left a bunch of people,” Jesse says quickly, so there’s no time to let his voice waver.

“You could’ve left _me_ ,” Gabriel points out.

“Naw,” Jesse disagrees, shaky again. “You sign my paycheck.”

Gabriel shifts against the pillows, breath hitching faintly as he aggravates his wound. For a moment, he’s quiet, thinking, then says observantly, “You sure hate thinking you might’ve turned over a new leaf.”

Jesse laughs again, but it’s a little forceful now, and his initial reaction gives him away. “Aw, Reyes, now you’re just spittin’ out shit-”

“You saved my life,” Gabriel says firmly, not quite authoritative but leaving no room for objection.

“I left my gun on the roof,” Jesse says honestly.

Gabriel snorts and winces right after. “It’s fine. A bomb went off less than three blocks away. Nobody would be surprised to find a gun. You’re not the first to have to ditch one, anyway.” He pauses, softens, offers Jesse a smile. “Thanks,” he says.

Jesse bites his lip so he won’t cry and ends up crying anyway. “Thank _you_ ,” he replies.

Gabriel looks amused, tilting his head and raising a brow. “For what?”

“Not dyin’ on me.”

“Old soldiers are hard to kill,” Gabriel muses. He grins. “I owe you a bandanna.”

Jesse laughs that off, genuinely this time, exhausted and relieved all at once.

Gabriel ends up having a terrible lot of downtime while he heals. After a few weeks, he does Jesse one better than a bandanna.

  [art by [lowmidnight](http://lowmidnight.tumblr.com/)]


End file.
